


No Respite for the Damned

by fandoms_girl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 16:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3388685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandoms_girl/pseuds/fandoms_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of The Executioner's Song, Dean suffers a nightmare where he sees Cain's predictions come to pass.</p>
<p>Song lyrics from "Blood on My Name" by the Brothers Bright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Respite for the Damned

_When the fires, when the fires have surrounded you…_

The closest thing to happiness to Dean Winchester at that moment was the glint of the bottom of a glass as he brought it down almost hard enough to crack on an antique dresser. He knew Sam and Cas were hovering close nearby, talking about him, the Mark, the First Blade in low whispers that crept into his room through the slit at the bottom of the door. So, Dean did what he did best – he drowned his emotions in a deluge of whiskey until his body could only process the alcohol by passing out, fully clothed, on his bed.

_…with the hounds of hell coming after you…_

He should have expected Cain’s words to echo through his nightmares; he should have known by now that closing his eyes was nothing more than an invitation for his inner demons to step up to play. Living Cain’s life in reverse was an abhorrent and terrifying prospect that some deeply buried, sick, dark part of himself was almost curious to experience. What would it feel like to rid himself of his last connections to humanity, to anything like family?

_…I've got blood, I've got blood on my name._

First would be Crowley. Dean had a myriad of reasons to hate the demon king, to want nothing more than to stab the smirk off Crowley’s face. Yet, had they not coexisted for years in a mutually parasitic relationship, using each other as they liked, working towards defeating common enemies? Was there not often a far bigger threat, requiring their pooling their resources to overcome, with no love or trust lost on either side? Dean silenced those voices of reason and logic, too far gone in his own mind to consider the ramifications of creating a power vacuum in Hell, to foresee the number of human lives that would be lost to that cause. His darkness didn’t care; it wanted blood, unquestioningly. And Dean would give in to warped desire, cutting down Crowley with relative ease, stepping over Crowley’s body to get to his next target.

_When the fires, when the fires are consuming you…_

Second would be Castiel. Dean loved Castiel, in ways he hadn’t even begun to acknowledge, much less name. Their bond was profound, transcending every realm of existence. Cas had betrayed him once, yes, but the angel had atoned for it dozens of times over. Did Dean bear him any ill will, any lingering doubt or distrust? Was Dean not immensely concerned with Cas’ flagging health and power, yearning to see the angels returned to the Heavens? This was his friend, his confidant, his perhaps something more, his Castiel, who his inner demons delighted in ending at his hand. Green eyes met blue for one final time as the angel’s body slumped off the blade, and what remained of Dean Winchester turned his attention on his brother.

_…and your sacred stars won’t be guiding you..._

Third would be Sam. Sam Winchester, the younger brother who was the sum of Dean’s family by blood left alive. A decade of fighting a war unseen by most of the populace had worn on Sam, just as it had worn on Dean. Was Sam not owed a chance to lay his weary head to rest, to cry no more over lives lost, torture endured, and sacrifices made? Was this the most merciful gift Dean could bestow upon his brother now, a cessation of mortal suffering? As Sam gasped his last breath and Dean slid the blade out from his brother’s ribs, the all-consuming darkness inside of him permitted this justification of his actions, so long as Dean would continue to feed it a steady diet of blood and viscera.

_…I've got blood, I've got blood, blood on my name._

Dean barely noticed when he ceased dreaming, nothing but scarlet-tinged darkness dancing in front of his eyes when he first opened them. Sam was on his left-hand side, Cas on his right, both trying to calm him, to assure him he was awake and in control. Their words wouldn’t erase the dried blood beneath his cuticles, the stain that marred Dean all the way down to what remained of his soul. He’d breathed life back into a creature that should have stayed dead and buried, and now he would pay the price. With luck, Sam and Cas wouldn’t be there when his debt was called.

_It won’t be long til I'm dead and gone…_


End file.
